


a mix of chaos and art (and how you never try to keep ‘em apart)

by notorious



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, They’re both dumb, and i would die for them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:53:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22958248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notorious/pseuds/notorious
Summary: Hope’s short. Lizzie can help with that.
Relationships: Hope Mikaelson/Lizzie Saltzman
Comments: 7
Kudos: 253





	a mix of chaos and art (and how you never try to keep ‘em apart)

**Author's Note:**

> no real plot here. only a height difference. and a lot of snacks. mostly unedited bc i’m at work. title from dermot kennedy’s outnumbered.
> 
> times are tuff so if you like what i do, consider buying me a "coffee" right [here](https://ko-fi.com/danceswithghosts) !!

Hope’s always been short.

Old news. 

Never bothers her, never stops her from pulling the rug out from under the Salvatore School’s latest monster of the week. Never even keeps her from reaching things on top shelves, though magic has lent a helping hand on many such an occasion.

Lizzie started helping with that freshman year. 

Mostly as a joke, mostly to poke fun at Hope for the vertical challenge. Maybe a little bit to show off, to gloat, because Lizzie shot up that year and started showing skin and got a hankering for the attention.

She didn’t mean to grow so in-tune with Hope that she started to realize before the tribrid even made a move when she was about to go for something out of reach. Just sort of happened that way.

It starts in gym class, freshman year, in the middle of a badminton game, when Hope sends the birdie soaring atop the folded-up bleachers and just stands there, looking distraught, because she is barely over five feet and there is no easy way for her to retrieve the lost object. Until Lizzie struts over, all five feet and nine inches of her, and pulls the birdie down without a second thought. Lizzie doesn’t think about it again, but Hope doesn’t quit scowling until they’re released for lunch.

Sophomore year they’re tasked with helping to build the spring musical sets as punishment for a food fight resulting in their History of Magic teacher coughing up spaghetti for three days. They’re doing Hairspray and everything is larger than life and Hope needs a boost to get anything done. Including getting her hands on the step ladder, which is tucked up high in the prop closet and even in wedge heels is out of her reach. Lizzie finds her starting to scale the rickety old shelves and puts a stop to it real quick, reaching over Hope’s head to retrieve the little ladder. When Hope hops down and glares at her it’s not without appreciation, however reluctant, somehow. She mumbles her thanks and disappears with the offending object.

And there’s the time Lizzie lopes down to the kitchen, maybe three am, full of yawns and itching for something to satiate her sweet tooth, and finds Hope standing on the counter with her head and hands lost in the snack cabinet. Whatever she’s digging for is nowhere to be found. “Don’t hurt yourself,” Lizzie quips, halfhearted and drowsy, and Hope jumps, startled, knocking the back of her head against the edge of the cabinet. Hope clambers down and fixes Lizzie with a look of annoyance fit to bring Mystic Falls to ruin — “ _Asshole_.” With a single glance into the open cabinet behind the tribrid, Lizzie lifts a hand and wiggles her fingers. A little red box frees itself from the bottom shelf and flies into Lizzie’s hand. “You didn’t even need me for that one,” she says as she strolls over, pressing the box of animal crackers into Hope’s hands. The irritation in Hope’s eyes is sweet enough for Lizzie; she forgets about a treat for herself after that.

It’s gotten a little out of hand since then.

Like now, junior year, when Lizzie stops in the kitchen to snag an apple after class and something in the back of her mind tells her to pull down the box of Thin Mints from the top shelf and take it with her to the lounge. She’s not craving sugar.

And she doesn’t know why she grabs them until she strolls into the lounge and finds Josie drilling Hope on geometric formulas with little to no success. Hope looks miserable, to put it lightly. Her eyes are threatening to close and her cheeks flare with frustration and her hands keep jumping from her lap to her face to a loose string on her jeans and back again as she fights to force herself into taking in what Josie’s trying to teach her. 

“You aren’t hopeless, Hope,” Josie’s telling her sweetly, correcting a mistake on their shared notepad with a swipe of blue ink. “You just need to practice. Same idea as learning to control our magic when we were young—”

“Girl Scout Cookies,” Hope declares suddenly, eyes gone wide, back straightening as she sits up, and she’s practically salivating as she whips a look around the room. “I smell Thin Mints.”

Lizzie gets it then.

She dangles the box from its corner, between thumb and forefinger, as she approaches her sister and the grumpy tribrid.

“Does the big bad wolf want a treat?” Lizzie asks, thick with snark and sprinkled with contempt. She doesn’t actually hate Hope, no, she doesn’t think she’s capable of that, but she can put on a good front. She can tease if it means turning Hope into the werewolf equivalent of a pouting puppy. When Hope reaches for the box, Lizzie lifts it just out of reach and clicks her tongue. “What’s the magic word?”

“Jackass,” Hope grumbles, rising to her feet and finally snatching the box of cookies for herself. She looks happily at the prize in her hands before gifting Lizzie with a placated smile. “Thanks, Liz.”

Lizzie just smirks and drops down next to her sister.

Day after that in the dining hall Lizzie goes for the last box of coffee milk because it’s way up high in the drink cooler and it catches her eye right before she steps out of line. Lizzie doesn’t even like coffee milk. She takes a spot beside Josie at their usual table and digs into her portobello burger with a dissatisfied sigh. It tastes like smoke and dirt and earth and Lizzie cannot for the life of her understand why her father decided to do away with the old menu.

She’s daydreaming of steak tips and Caesar salad when Hope slumps into the chair across from the twins with a pitiful huff.

Josie looks at her, head at a tilt, trying not to smile. “What’s got you in a tizzy?”

“Chocolate,” Hope mutters, frowning at the little brown box of milk on her tray. “I wanted coffee.”

Lizzie plucks up her own carton of coffee milk and drops it onto Hope’s tray. When she meets the tribrid’s eyes she finds wonder and surprise. And maybe a hint of admiration.

“Last one,” Lizzie explains with a dismissive shrug. “For you.”

It’s always little things.

They shouldn’t mean much, but they add up.

It takes drinks to get Hope to call Lizzie out on it. Four wine coolers and six fingers of bourbon, and she’s smiling when she says it, grinning like she’s just stumbled upon the world’s eighth wonder and plans to keep it all to herself. Smug. It’s a good look on her.

“You’ve been lending me your height for years,” Hope says to her that night in the dorms as the festivities are winding down and the only ones left in the twins’ shared space besides the twins themselves are MG and the tribrid. “Ever consider I maybe don’t _want_ it?”

Bullshit, Lizzie thinks. She knows Hope. And she’d just pulled the bluetooth speakers down from way up in high in the closet so Hope could throw on a playlist titled _slow jams for sadboys_ , so they’re probably both in deeper than they’d care to admit.

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Lizzie tells her, matching her smugness with cockiness.

Hope’s never not liked being small. She can fit anywhere, oversized sweatshirts are always just the right amount of _big_ , her queen bed feels like a king. Being short has only ever bothered her when it comes to Lizzie.

“Maybe,” Hope admits. From her spot on the floor, criss-cross with her back against Lizzie’s bed, the entire world is laid out for her. Friends, food, tunes crooning and curling through the late-night air. It’s telling that the only thing she cares to focus on is the blonde witch at her side, the girl who’s teased her for years, who’s driven her crazy more times than there are numbers to count. Hope just looks at her, eyes cloudy, smile fading but never dying, like Lizzie’s the final puzzle piece she’s been hunting for for years. But she’s always been there.

“C’mon,” Lizzie tells her after one moment of silence turns to two, three, and the quiet grows deafening. “I’ll walk you back to your room.”

She’s skeptical when they reach Hope’s door and she asks her, “Come in for a sec?” but cracks a grin when it’s quickly followed up with, “There’s one more thing I can’t reach without your help.”

“I almost don’t want to ask what you’ve managed to keep out of reach in your own bedr—”

“Shut _up_ ,” Hope cuts her off once they’re inside, turning on her heel to trap Lizzie between her small frame and the door. If she looks at Lizzie too long, if she focuses on the confusion in her eyes or the silent question on her lips, she’ll flake. Not an option. So, “Get down here,” she mutters, lifts a hand, fingers curling around the back of Lizzie’s neck until she has enough pull to tug the blonde down to her mouth.

Kissing Lizzie feels like submerging in hot water, like sitting by a fire, like waking up with the sun on your back and knowing you’d give everything you have to chase that heat on your skin and warmth in your heart.

Her mouth tastes like pink moscato and strawberries and Hope thinks she could do away with animal crackers, Thin Mints, and coffee milk entirely if only she could taste Lizzie whenever she needs something sweet.

Being short when it comes to Lizzie doesn’t bother her anymore. Not when Lizzie melts down into her, arms around her middle, hands coasting the length of her spine, pulling her in, keeping her safe. 

They fit well together, better than Hope’s ever fit anywhere.

It’s as comforting as it is terrifying.

**Author's Note:**

> i suck at twitter but catch me at @TRIBRlD maybe


End file.
